Helpless
by Just-Canadian
Summary: Spain is sick and in pain, and Romano is afraid that he may not make it this time. Might make it a two shot.
1. Chapter 1

"You have to go to the meetings by yourself for a while. Antonio is sick."

"Oh no! Is Brother Spain going to be okay?"

"I'm not sure," a harsh cough had him looking up from his lap to the sick Spaniard in the bed; "it looks pretty bad this time."

"Oh. . ." Romano could practically hear the frown that is most likely taking form on his brother's face. "So you're going to stay with him until he's better?"

"Yeah," He replied, using a cold cloth to wipe away the sweat from his previous caretaker's fever stricken face. "I'm not sure how long though, but tell everyone that neither Antonio nor I will be attending the meetings until further notice."

"Okay. Take care, _fratello_."

Romano ended the call and tossed his phone onto the bedside table. When he turned his attention back to the sick man he returned to dabbing the cool cloth against his face.

He hated whenever this happened. It was always the same. The Italian would worry when Spain didn't pick up his phone or return any of his messages. So he would travel to the Spaniards home only to find him passed out in his garden, running a high fever. But this time was different. This time it was the way Spain replied to his messages.

_'I can't hang out with you today, I'm sorry, Lovi.'_

_'My boss has given lots of work to do, sorry.'_

And many others of the like. The normal Antonio would abandon any and all work just to spend five minutes with his favourite Italian. Romano had been suspicious after the first excuse, but wasn't really concerned until the second week. And now he is furious with himself for not checking in on Spain the first day. The old nation had lost a dangerous amount of weight; so much so that Lovino had no trouble carrying him from the study – where Romano had found him – up the stairs to his bed, and without Spain using what little strength he obviously didn't have to carry some of his own weight.

He noticed Antonio tremble, so he went to the closet for another blanket and gently placed it over the barely conscious man. Changing Spain's clothes hadn't been hard either, the ones he had been wearing were soaked in sweat, so they had to be taken off immediately. The hardest part – that he was still struggling with – was trying to get Antonio to talk. Romano would try asking him what happened, but all he would get in response is a pained groan. Another problem was food. He had tried getting Antonio to eat, and he was happy to see him swallow the soup he had made, but disappointed when it came back up. _I'll try once more before calling a doctor._ He thought as he helped Spain sit up against the pillows.

"C'mon, Spain," Lovino held a half filled spoon to the man's mouth, "one more time."

Spain shook his head weakly as he panted through his cracked lips, his eyes not once opening. Then he made a sound that may have been a word. Lovino set the bowl and spoon down as he moved closer, hoping he hadn't imagined it.

"H . . . hurts."

Lovino frowned. Sure Spain had finally said something, but saying 'it hurts' is not a good sign. "What hurts?"

"Ev . . . ever . . . everything. . ." As if to prove that fact tears escaped from his closed eyelids and slowly fell down his inflamed cheeks. "It h-hurts . . . so mu . . . much . . . L-L-Lovi. . ."

He felt his heart rupture at the sight of the once unbeatable nation reduced to such a state. Spain was only a few pounds short of a skeleton; his usual golden brown skin was pale and clammy, he was trembling from the fever and the sobs that racked his body.

But Romano refused to give up hope. Spain was always able to bounce back no matter how bad it became. He would smile his signature goofy smile as he delivered news of his return to good health. But it seemed that even he was doubtful of his less than likely recovery. And Lovino was having none of that.

"It's okay, Antonio," he soothed as he ran his hand through the older nation's damp hair, "you're going to be fine."

More tears fell down his face as Antonio shook his head again, and as if that wasn't enough, he was suddenly overcome with a terrible coughing fit.

Romano was right there to hold him close and rub soothing circles on his back until it was over and he was left with a shuddering and sobbing Spaniard. Lovino was having trouble keeping his own tears in check as he whispered what he hoped was reassuring words to the severely sick man. He felt something tugging at his shirt so he looked down to see Antonio trying to grab onto the fabric, but didn't have enough strength to. Romano bit his lip wrapping his arms tightly around Spain and stroked his damp, mated hair as he hummed a Spanish lullaby that Antonio had sung for him in the past.

After Spain had fallen asleep, and Lovino tucked him back into bed, he grabbed his phone and called Spain's boss, demanding answers. What he found out was not good; apparently, there is a threat of a civil war. The people aren't happy with each other and it's tearing the whole country apart. It is the rich versus the poor; on top of it all, the economy is in trouble because of it. In a fit of rage, and the use of colourful Italian, Romano hangs up. He runs his hands through his hair as he tries to hold back an onslaught of tears.

_Not again! _He groans. He remembers the last civil war and what it had done to Spain as a country and a person. But back then Antonio had been stronger and prepared for the worst, not like now when he is still trying to recover from that. He also had help then, from Romano. He would help again, but his and Feliciano's boss would never agree to it. He cursed both his and Spain's bosses to a long and painful death before returning to Antonio's side.

The personification of Spain was moaning and tossing his head side to side.

"_P-p-por. . . Fa . . . vor _. . . _No. . . . l-luches_. . ."

He couldn't hold back anymore, clutching Antonio's hand, Lovino let the tears fall. The one he loved was in pain and he couldn't do anything about it. He sobbed into the blankets, letting his emotions run free, blaming Spain's boss, his people, even Spain before moving on to himself. He blamed his weakness, his inability to do anything for the man that had sacrificed so much to keep him safe.

"Don't."

Romano was surprised he was even able to hear such a quiet voice. The tears had stopped at the sound of Spain's strained voice laced with pain. Lovino's brown eyes locked with Antonio's green before he opened his mouth to speak again.

"Don't . . . blame your . . . yourself." He had to stop to breathe a bit before continuing, wincing at the soreness in his throat, "This i-isn't . . . yo-your . . . fault." Antonio fell into another fit of coughing when he finished talking, his breaths coming out as desperate gasps for air.

"Stop talking you idiot!" Romano commanded, "It obviously hurts so stop!"

But Antonio refused to listen, "I-i-it d-does . . . hu-hurt . . . but n-not as . . . as much . . . a-a-a-as . . . se-see-seeing y-you . . . cr . . . cr . . . cry."

The more Spain talked the harder it was for him to breathe and the more it hurt him. The pain was fully displayed on the Spaniard's face and the way he had his fist clenched tightly over his chest. Romano laid his hand over Antonio's.

"Just shut up and breathe."

This time he did as told and after a few struggling breaths Antonio was back to light panting. The whole ordeal had taken a lot out of him. His pale skin was glistening with sweat, his eyelids had closed, and his fist had relaxed. Grabbing the cool cloth Lovino set to cleaning off the sweat from Antonio's face and chest. When Spain spoke again Romano had to really strain to hear him.

"Ti . . . tired."

"Then sleep, _idiota_"

And he did just that, within seconds Antonio was asleep. Romano just sat by his side, holding his hand, and watching him sleep. Even though he appeared more relaxed, Antonio's face was still slightly contorted in pain. Lovino placed his other hand on Spain's fever hot cheek and rubbed his thumb against it. He silently prayed to God to save this man, the man he loved with all his heart. A couple tears escaped as the saddened Italian watched over his beloved Spaniard.

* * *

**Okay, just to clear things up I know next to nothing about the current state of Spain's economy and whatnot, but I had this on the brain and I didn't want to loose it, so I set to writing right away. I'm thinking of including another chapter, but that depends on the reviews I get. I am very self-conscious!**


	2. Chapter 2

Romano was torn from his sleep by a blood-curdling scream. He had fallen asleep in the chair at the bedside, so Romano was immediately at the screaming man's side.

"What's wrong?!"

Spain didn't answer; he just curled into a tight ball, hands clutching his head, and screamed.

"Damn it, Antonio!" Lovino tried prying the man's hands away from his head so that he could see his face, "I can't help if I don't know what's hurting you!"

"Everything!" Spain gasped; his voice far more hoarse than it had been earlier, "make it stop!"

_I would if I could._ Romano gave up what he was doing, jumped onto the bed, and pulled the shrieking man into his lap. Spain was shaking so violently it could have been mistaken for a seizure. Rocking back and forth, Romano rubbed his back and arms in an attempt to ease some of the Spaniard's pain.

"Shh, it is okay," he whispered into Spain's still damp hair, "everything is going to be okay. Everything will sort itself out soon. You're going to be fine." He didn't know if he was saying that to make Spain feel better or himself. But it seemed that neither of them believe it – Spain continued to shake and scream, and Romano shed tears.

This lasted for another hour, but to Romano it felt like years. It had only stopped because Spain had passed out from the pain, but Romano didn't move from his position. He continued to hold and rock his beloved as he hummed and sang Spanish and Italian lullabies. This was all he could do; this was the extent of his usefulness. Singing and patting his lover's head was the best he could do. But even that seemed ineffective. Spain continued to shiver and whimper even during his unconscious state. Romano just kept singing and rocking as his heart broke with every plea to make the pain go away; every time Spain begged his people to stop fighting each other.

This went on all day. Spain would wake up screaming, calling for Romano, and cling to him when he climbed into the bed. Romano would hold him, sing, and whisper reassuring words. And then Spain would pass out and begin the cycle all over again.

In between episodes Romano had called Spain's boss again to find out what was going on to cause such a reaction. The people were protesting; riots were happening all across the country; people were vandalizing major buildings and historical landmarks. It was hell. And again Romano was cursing out the messenger, throwing his phone across the room, and collapsing to his knees in tears. He wanted to cry until he passed out, or better yet, until he died; but whenever Spain woke up screaming his name, Romano would remember that he needed to be strong for the one that was in more pain than him. With that in mind, he'd pick himself off the floor and return to his lover's side.

By the time it was dark out the episodes had stopped and Spain was finally able to sleep. It wasn't a peaceful sleep like Romano wanted it to be, but as long as the screaming had ceased he was happy.

Spain's fever had risen and breathing had gotten to the point where he was literally gasping for air. It was time to call for a doctor; just to get something to help him breath. But he was denied that. No doctor was available and none from his country wanted to risk the trek. Romano was scared; he told this to his brother when he called to check on the sick Spaniard.

"I don't know what to do!" The desperate Italian cried, having just finished updating his sibling.

"We'll figure something out, don't give up, _fratello_."

"I'm trying . . ."

The younger Italian was surprised by his older brother's open attitude. Romano would usually snap at him for calling while he was taking care of Spain, but it seemed that this time really was different. Feliciano was determined to help in any way he could.

"I'll bring up Brother Spain's condition at the meeting next week," he suggested, "maybe someone can help."

"I don't think Spain can wait until next week!" Romano snapped, "He can hardly BREATH right now and I can't get any doctor from here or home to help with that!"

"I'm sorry _fratello_! I'll try calling for an emergency meeting, but I'm can't promise anything."

"Whatever!" He didn't wait for Italy to respond before he hung up.

Collapsing onto the chair at Spain's bedside, Romano let out a long sigh and buried his face in his hands. He knew it was wrong of him to get angry at his brother, but he couldn't control his emotions anymore. His heart was a roller coaster ride and his brain just as chaotic. His mind kept wondering to the possibility that Spain may not survive the night. He tried to avoid such thoughts, but as time went by it was getting harder and harder to ignore. Romano's pessimistic thoughts were interrupted by a whimper from the bed.

". . . Lovi . . ."

So quiet. So pained. Romano didn't stop himself from crawling under the covers and lay next to the trembling Spaniard. He set to stroking Spain's chocolate brown hair as he hummed more lullabies and held his hand.

There were a few times during the night when Romano would be awaken by Spain squeezing his hand so hard he thought it might break. Obviously from heartless citizens damaging historic monuments. But the pain to his hand was better than the screaming any day. Romano tried staying awake to make sure Spain didn't stop breathing, but the occasional clenching of the hot hand in his own was enough to assure Romano that Spain was still alive. Even if death would be more of a mercy by this point. Romano stopped that train of thought right there.

The next day was better. Spain was breathing better and there was no more screaming. He said he felt only little pain, but not enough to cause too much worry. Romano didn't believe him.

"Really, Lovi, I'm fine." The Spaniard insisted.

_You would be smiling if you were, tomato bastard_; but instead of saying that, Romano opts to picking up a newly made bowl of soup. "Eat." He held the spoon by Spain's mouth, "you haven't eaten anything in I don't know how many days."

Spain was hesitant, he was afraid his stomach wouldn't be able to handle it. The last time he had food it felt like acid down his throat and burned a hole through his belly. Spain turned his head away from the spoon. "Can I try later?"

Romano frowned at this. "No, you idiot! You need to eat!" He moved the spoon back in front of Spain's mouth.

"I'm just not hungry right now." Again, he avoided the food shoved in his face, "Please, Lovi."

Romano wasn't expecting Spain to be so unwilling to eat. The man was skin and bones! "Just try! Please, Antonio!"

Spain was really reluctant to try putting anything in his stomach, but he didn't want Lovino to worry about him anymore than he already was. He turned back to face the persistent Italian with a small smile. "O-okay . . ."

Sighing with relief Romano guided the spoonful of warm soup towards Spain's mouth.

He opened his mouth to take in the spoon and swallowed the food. Right away Spain was hit with the sensation of something chewing at the inside of his throat as if trying to eat its way out. He choked and coughed; spitting until he was sure he got every bit of the creature out of his body. Spain was shaking and panting as he wiped his mouth.

"I-I'm sorry . . . Lovi . . ."

Romano definitely hadn't been expecting that. It couldn't have been because of the taste. It was tomato soup! Spain's favourite! He frowned again and set aside the soup, rubbing Spain's back in a silent apology and an attempt at helping his body calm down. But that did little as another fit of coughing decided to attack. Romano closed his eyes to keep the tears at bay as he held his Spaniard close.

After Spain had recovered from the attack he lay back against the pillows and evened out his breathing the best he could.

"Sorry . . . Lovi," He managed between breaths.

"Stop apologizing, bastard," Romano held Spain's hand, "None of this is your fault."

"It isn't . . . yours . . . either."

Romano's only response to that was squeezing Spain's hand and brushing the hair out of his face. Now that he could see Spain's bright, green eyes he realized that they weren't as bright as they usually are. Spain's beautiful eyes had dulled, as if the bubbly Spaniard's life was slowly draining away. Romano covered Spain's eyes in a feeble, childish attempt to keep any more of this lovable man's spirit from escaping. A couple tears ran down the Italian's face.

"L-Lovi?"

"It's nothing," he took a deep breath before finishing, "go to sleep."

"_S-Si. . ._"

Within minutes Spain was asleep again.

* * *

**HA! TEASING YOU! **

**I apologize for the extreme delay. I've hit a major bump/pothole of DEATH on the road that is my life, thus preventing me from having any energy to think of anything to be able to complete this in the second chapter. I swear to you it is not going to end here. Just please have patience.**

**Thank you.**


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